Words and What Come With Them
by malfoy-anonymous
Summary: A story about a girl and a boy intent on destroying each other, hatred and what follows, words and what come with them.
1. How it Began and Why

**How it Began and Why**

"No exceptions to the rules, no excuses, and if I do happen to catch any one of you breaking them your badge will be taken away immediately." With that, McGonagall concluded the first Prefect meaning. She gave the twenty-four students seated around the table a meaningful look and they all rose to leave. Hermione Granger closed her glossy black notebook to hide the in-depth notes she had taken during the meeting and smiled at Ronald beside her.

"That was fascinating." At times, Hermione still found it hard to grasp that she was a _witch. _It was exhilarating to have this new world ready for her to discover and learn. She savoured very piece of Wizard culture and knowledge presented to her, and this meeting on the rules of the Prefects, this century old tradition, was like a beautiful bit of chocolate to be eaten slowly with relish.

"Only to you," murmured Ron, running a hand through his messy red hair. Hermione knew he had been completely and utterly bored during the meeting- she could tell by the way his eyelids drooped and his mouth hung slightly open while his tongue traced patterns on his lips. She wondered if he knew it drove her crazy when he did this- the sight of his damp lips never failed to fill her mind with completely inappropriate thoughts and bring a blush to her cheeks.

"I'm going to stay back for a second; I have a question about rule number three. What does she mean by, 'depending on the severity of the crime, it is up to the Prefect to decide whether or not to present said student to the teachers'? It's quite vague. Anyway, I'll see you in the common room." Ron nodded and dusted his jeans off. He left with the other students, and only when Hermione heard the door click shut did she turn to the woman in front of her. McGonagall looked at her expectantly.

What started as a simple question soon turned into a conversation about magical rats, and then a discussion about the history of Transfiguration over cups of steaming lavender tea and buttery crumpets. The two women relaxed into the comfortable atmosphere and familiar chitchat. It was not unusual for Hermione to have such a conversation with McGonagall- they both enjoyed each other's company, and she reveled in the intellectual conversation that was just not possible with her two best friends. It was also a nice break from the stress of outside, away from the prying and infuriating eyes of Dolores Umbridge.

The professor broke off in the middle of her sentence about Tony the Transfigurer to glance at her watch and gasped at the time. She turned to Hermione and demanded her immediate departure.

"But Professor, I'm not even finished my tea-"

"Oh, but I do insist, it is much too late and I know you still have that Herbology assignment to write-"

"You're right, you're right, well thank you very much-"

"Do take care-"

"Have a goodnight, Professor-"

Hermione shook the woman's hand and rose from the table. She pulled on her book bag, rolling her shoulder so that the strap settled nicely into the crevice between her neck and shoulder, before waving goodbye and exiting the meeting room with a light smile on her lips.

…

Draco watched darkly as Hermione skipped down the hall. The crumpled piece of parchment in his pocket felt like a thousand stones, like the words inked on it in slanted writing were written with his blood. His parent's silent urging and disappointment radiated from the letter, and he both basked in it and cowered away. Seeing his parents flustered and desperate brought a smile to his lips- Draco had control over them, whatever he did would reflect what the Dark Lord did to them, and they knew this. They had made the biggest mistake- to let your fate rest in the hands of another was to block the path to greatness.

Draco revelled in his control.

Though there were times when he shied away from this, from the knowledge that though he was powerful he was also being fueled- he had a source that he could not function without, and the thought of his parents reminded him of this every second of the day. He was a hypocrite and though he tried to convince himself he was in control of this game, there were days when the lie was so blatantly obviously just that- a lie. The self-loathing was imprinted into his brain, reducing him to a quivering mess in the worst of times. Today, he could not hate himself more.

He watched Hermione skip down the hall, and his lip curled in distaste. This was a girl that was really and truly the ringmaster- she could break free of her chains, not listen to anybody, go out and fight for herself, and still be great and honored. At most, there would be only a feeble attempt to stop her. She could gain followers, gain power, _be the leader._ She could bring down the Dark Lord if she wished. And yet, she was letting this _bravery, _and _friendship,_ get in the way. She still stayed attached to Potter and Weasley, and allowed herself to be controlled by an Order. She could do what he could not, but she refrained from it. It felt like a slap in the face, and he wanted nothing more than to destroy her utterly and wipe this doubt from his mind.

She passed his place in the shadows, oblivious, and Draco snapped. She looked so calm and collected, and here was Draco, a shivering mess of nerves and anger. Why should she be so sure, so healthy, and not him? He was better than her in many ways, not just by blood. She deserved to be the one huddled in the corner.

"Granger," he said, stepping away from the shadows. She turned around, her mouth tight and her eyes narrow with faux anger. He knew she was reluctant, a bit fearful and suspicious of him. Surprise was etched into every crease of her face. She was making herself vulnerable, and Draco hated her for it.

He had to do something. Something that would wound her more than words, that would repulse her and distract her and throw her off track and turn her into a mess like him. He approached her rapidly and crushed his mouth to hers. He pushed her back into the wall and covered her body with his. Her mouth was responding under his. He did not move his hands to clutch her arms, or touch her hair, or stroke her cheek. He stayed utterly still save for his lips moving against her. The lack of passion or anything of the sort wasthe elephant in the room. He was taking her for no reason at all but for her to hurt.

She raised her hand to press it against his chest and gave a feeble push, and Draco pulled back. His lips curved into a grin when he saw the real rage in her eyes, her mouth pursed and her cheeks red. Finally, she looked defiant and angry.

"That's much better, Granger."

And with that he walked away.

…

How dare he. He was worse than a prat, or a wanker, or whatever other names were commonly used to describe someone like… _that. _There was just no words for the bubbling hatred inside of her, the pressure in her chest like her heart was made of bricks. As an avid lover of words and what came with them, this irritated Hermione beyond belief.

It wasn't just that he kissed her, though that would seem the obvious reason for her anger. It was that he gave her nothing to work with, nothing at all. Had there been tenderness, or passion, or relief, she would have been able to surmise that he was attracted to her. Had there been no kiss at all, she would have had the pleasure to remain with the knowledge that he was the obnoxious spoiled Slytherin she'd always known and despised. But there had been nothing, and it would appear as if he kissed her for no reason at all.

She felt as though whatever he was doing, this tightness in her chest meant he was winning. So she straightened her shoulders and flipped back her hair and walked back to the common room without a backwards glance.

If she had looked back, she might have seen a blonde lanky boy standing in the middle of the corridor with his eyes trained on her retreating back, his eyes blazing.


	2. Enticed

**Entice, _v., _[en-tahys]**

**to lead on by exciting hope or desire; allure**

The beginning of this chapter takes place in a large room. The floor is made of pristine white tile flecked with green, and the brick walls are painted a rich pine colour. There are no windows- all the light comes from magically charmed torches lining the walls. Three dark wooden beds are set in a row against a wall. Each bed has four posters hung with translucent lime curtains. Engraved into the posters are pictures that tell a story, which begins with a bearded man and ends with a thousand twisting snakes. The beds are laid with thick green quilts.

Across from the beds are three identical oak dressers, though one has been magically and undetectably enlarged. Two dressers hold extra-large black robes and untouched copies of _Hogwarts: A History. _One holds medium black robes with an embroidered D on the breast pocket, a beaten copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and a blue notebook. Hidden beneath one of the beds is a picture of a woman who is now dead, and under another is a pile of letters written in slanted writing. On this bed lies a tall, lean boy with a fringe of glossy blonde hair and lips pulled back into a sneer. Between his fingers he holds an apple gingerly, and he whispers a string of words that cause it to turn black and promptly disintegrate. He does this subconsciously, for his mind is filled with other thoughts.

The other beds are glaringly empty, and I can disclose to you that the occupants are three floors above in a Common Room decorated similarly in green.

With a wave of his wand the boy cleans the apple ashes from his bed and begins picking at a hole in bedspread. He thinks that he should ask his mother to send him a new blanket but he knows he won't, because it isn't important at all in the grand scheme of things.

How annoying that thought is- _the grand scheme of things._ In the grand scheme of things, books are just different combinations of the same 26 letters, and magic was just words, and there are thousands of people you'll never meet and thousands of places you'll never see. Nothing was important _in the grande scheme of things, _was it? We are just a few people on a small planet with a lot of problems amongst other planets with a lot of other problems. The thought is enough to drive someone mad. In the grand scheme of things, this... _game_ with Granger doesn't matter at all. However, down on Earth in this dormitory deep in the dungeons, it seems like a mighty big deal.

Draco was reminded of another muggle quote- _two can play at that game. _It was a nonsense quote, of course, because two people have to be playing a game or else it is not a game. What is it called, if it is a game for only one? Perhaps a hobby, or a pastime. Draco had no time for these.

So yes, two were playing this game. Hermione was fighting back, and he was not surprised. In fact, it satisfied him and made the letter in his pocket one stone lighter. Though did she even know the game she was playing? It was no fun if she didn't know the rules, winning wouldn't hold the same triumph if she wasn't given a fair chance to fight back. He would definitely have to change that.

It had taken Draco all of three minutes to decide what his next move would be.

He needed to do something that would stay in her head_. _As well, he figured he might as well use what she already possessed to ease the job. Bloody compassion.

The door to the room opened and his train of thought broke off as two corpulent figures ambled through, stumbling over their feet and cursing under their breath. He sighed loudly and propped his head up on his elbow to better smirk at them.

...

Hermione had a headache.

The blended murmuring of voices and clanging of cutlery in the great hall grated against her skull, and she gritted her teeth against the pressure behind her eyes. Harry looked over at her and touched her arm lightly.

"Mione? You okay?" he asked. She cracked open an eye and peered out at him.

"Yeah, everything is fine and dandy," she said, but the sarcasm was weak. Harry let out a short laugh and looked away quickly. Headaches were common for her, and she had a reputation amongst her friends for being extra irritable and snappy in such state.

The eggs on her plate looked as unappetizing as if they were slugs, and bile scratched her throat at the thought of chocking them down. It didn't help that a certain Draco Malfoy was staring her down from across the room, his eyes burning holes in the back of her head. When she peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, she saw not admiration, nor contentment, but burning resentment etched into every crease of his flawless face.

Flawless? Did she just use that word to describe him? If she was perfectly honest with herself, he was a good looking man. His skin was pristine and smooth, jaw square and blunt. His hair was shiny and messy and hung in platinum blonde strands around his face. His mouth was pulled tight into a permanent smirk. And though she couldn't see them from this distance, she knew that under the blonde dusted eyebrows were his eyes.

As an unlucky owner of brown eyes, Hermione had always admired colourful eyes. Draco's were something different all together. They were a blue that was so light it faded to gray, though in certain light they were an azure as bright as Dumbledore's. They were smooth and untouched, a steel cage barring his mind from the outside world. Nevertheless, they looked as deep as the ocean, and if you weren't careful you could drown in them. Hermione had to be very, very careful.

Once, in fourth year, Hermione had accidently stumbled upon Draco in the library. She had never been to that section before, as it was hidden behind a shelf of Transfiguration textbooks, and she always got distracted before she could venture further. However, that day she had been on a quest for a certain book on Charms, and had found herself in a room she had never seen before. It was small and worn with time, with peeling and faded floral wallpaper and a painting of Earl the Enthusiast hung crookedly on the wall. There was one piece of furniture, an armchair that sagged so that its belly touched the ground. Crammed into the room were hundreds of books- stacked from floor to ceiling, used as tables for other books, stuffed into textbooks as bookmarks, overflowing from a small bookcase.

Seated in the armchair was none other than Draco Malfoy himself, nose stuck in a book. His legs were tucked under him and he was leaning leisurely against the armrest. One arm was splayed out to the side while the other kept a thick leather bound volume tucked firmly into his lap. Hermione noticed this vaguely, but what she saw most was his eyes.

They were not gray, nor blue, but a mixture of both to create navy. They were bright and unguarded, wide with fascination that matched the easy smile on his lips. As he read, every emotion was clear in his eyes and face. It was fascinating and amazing and exhilarating to watch and Hermione ran out of there as fast as she could. She never came back and he never knew she had seen him.

She was sure if she could make out his eyes now they would be the familiar calculating gray. She was hit with a sudden urge to see them, to walk over to the Slytherin table and peer into them. She bit her lip and forced herself to turn back to her plate and shove a piece of drippy egg into her mouth. Harry watched her curiously out of the corner of his eye.

...

Hermione loved every school subject, she really did. Every single one was a present and a gift and an adventure. However, that didn't mean she liked every teacher.

She found it hard to believe that _anyone _could be fond of Severus Snape. She knew Harry and Ronald despised him as much as she did, for different reasons. Their dislike stemmed from the sheer number of detentions they had been given and points taken away by his mouth. Hermione's dislike came from the fact that he made one of the most challenging and therefore greatest school subjects a punishment, and the way he stuck his nose in the air at students because they were amateurs infuriated her to no end. There was a rumour that he gave private lessons to the students he favoured most, and though Hermione couldn't think of anything she would rather do than learn advanced Potions, she'd jump off the Astronomy Tower before she was left alone in a room with Snape.

This particular Potions class was going as usual. She was seated in the front row flanked by Ron and Harry, with her essay on Moonstone perched on the desk in front of her. Her hands were clasped in front of her while she tried very hard to ignore the taunting Slytherin snickers behind her, Harry and Ron's conversation on Quidditch, and Draco Malfoy seated directly behind her, in order to listen to the lesson Snape was conducting on why Transfiguration was not real magic.

There was a lull in the noise and Hermione looked around. A glance at her watch told her class was over, and she hurried to begin packing her bag like everybody else.

"Hey Hermione, you coming back to the common room?" Ron asked and gave her a lopsided smile. Her heart skipped a beat and she beamed back.

"Of course, I'm just going to hand my essay in and then I'll be there."

"Do you think you could... mention to Snape that mine isn't completed yet? Say it's a work in progress."

"Ronald, it was due today! Ron!" But Ron was already scurrying out the door. Hermione made a face at his back- how considerate of him to leave her to face Snape's wrath. She walked up to Snape's desk and set the piece of parchment covered in her neat script down gently on the pile of other essays.

"Ms. Granger, may I ask why yours is 6 inches longer than everybody else's?" It was actually 7 inches longer, but she was thankful for his miscalculation.

"Oh, uh..." she stuttered. "I found the Moonstone very interesting, and I couldn't narrow down my research into just 13 inches..." Snape smiled humourlessly and took out a piece of parchment and a quill.

"That's the sixth time you have done an assignment incorrectly, Ms. Granger. 20 points from Gryffindor. And another 20 points for not making sure Mr. Weasley got his assignment in on time." Hermione gaped at him. 40 points from Gryffindor? She was the one that got the most points for Gryffindor with her correct answers, but she didn't even make that much in a week. She wanted very badly to show the professor just how well she performed the Jelly Legs Jinx, but instead she curled her hand into a fist and thanked Snape for his consideration.

Stinking prat.

The students in line behind her didn't bother to hide their laughter, and Hermione's face burned with shame and anger as she stalked out of the classroom. She heard footsteps behind her and saw Draco and his henchmen, Crabbe and Goyle. Pansy Parkinson was behind them, craning her neck to see over their heads.

"Granger," Draco said with mock politeness, and Pansy laughed excitedly. The group passed her with their heads held high besides Pansy, who took the opportunity to kick her in leg and whisper "_Mudblood."_

"Oh, she's a keeper, Malfoy," Hermione said sarcastically, but her words were pointed. It was well known that Pansy and Draco were an item, and she was sure the Slytherin wouldn't take it too well if she knew her hubby was snogging mudblood Gryffindors. Draco looked over his shoulder to give her an annoyed look before him and his gang disappeared around the corner. Hermione rolled her eyes at the space they had been just a second ago and turned to head back to the Gryffindor common room.

A small blue notebook lying on the ground caught her eye. She frowned and knelt to pick it up. How could someone be so careless with their notes when there was a quiz next week? She cracked it open to see if there was a name, but the pages were empty. She thought for a second about keeping the notebook to use, but it gave her a creepy feeling similar to that of Tom Riddle's diary, so she snapped it shut and knelt down to place it back on the floor for the owner to find.

A small piece of parchment slipped out of the cover, and Hermione hesitated for a split second before pinching it between her fingers and picking it up. The parchment looked old, though it was hard to tell because it was folded into a tiny little square. Carefully, so as not to tear it, she unfolded it. It looked like a letter, the slanted writing scripted in dark green ink. She felt a spark of curiosity, and held it up to the light to read it. It was short.

_November 21, 1995_

_Dearest Draco,_

_We understand that your schoolwork has become your biggest priority, and that is not acceptable. The Lord wishes for your reports to be more in depth, and he has threatened us with the foreclosure of the Manor and the deaths of a few well chosen people. There are people included that are important to you as well. This is a warning. You know this is important, you must do better or else. Your reluctance will be your death. As well, Aunt Bellatrix wishes to meet you at B&B next Sunday to discuss something important. We think it is another mission. Be flattered, she means well. Behave._

_Love,_

_N and L_

So Draco was reluctant, was he?

She closed her eyes to better absorb the information from the letter, and then folded it neatly into her pocket along with the notebook. She walked the route to the common room in a trance, images of Bellatrix and Draco having a tea party in Borgin and Burkes dominating her thoughts. She ignored Harry and Ron sitting in the armchairs by the fire and hurried up to her dormitory. She wanted to put the notebook and letter in a safe place. She stopped short when she saw the small green note taped to her door. It read;

_Astronomy Tower, 11.30_

_D_

**Astronomy Tower, 11:30**

Draco knew she would come. Combine the letter and the note, it was an opportunity too delicious to pass up. Surely she had prepared questions of some sort about the fake letter from his parents- what a perfect opportunity for her to pry into someone else's life, an activity that seemed to have become a pastime of hers. Perhaps he would even let her ask them, if all went as planned.

He knew also that the second part of his plan had succeeded. She had been watching him curiously all day, and had subconsciously followed him halfway to the Slytherin common room before realising what she was doing and turning back. He couldn't wait to hear her admit it- he had been on her mind, _all day. _He hoped it was driving her crazy. That was the point, after all.

So it came as no surprise when the door to the Tower creaked open behind him. He stayed where he was, gazing at the stars. He half heartedly began finding constellations, all the while listening intently to the light feminine footsteps as she walked towards him. She came to stand beside him and looked out the window as well. They were both acutely aware of the other's presence, and only when the hatred burning in his chest at her untroubled face became painful did he step away from the window. He walked over to the door of the room and clicked the lock, not missing the fearful look that flitted across Hermione's face. She opened her mouth.

"You are wondering why I brought you here, you found a letter and have questions, you wonder what the fuck the kiss meant yesterday." Hermione swallowed nervously and nodded. He smiled grimly at her easy submission- she was weak, so weak. And he was strong.

"The letter was fake, a ploy to get you here. I assure you I have unwavering loyalty to the Dark Lord as far as anyone knows. Don't overanalyse that statement. I brought you here because of the kiss. See, I hate you. Completely, entirely, and I am justified in it. You do not see what you have, and it pains me. You do not deserve it, and for that I will break you. But then again, what good is it if you do not know that it was _I _that ruined you? That's why I'm telling you. As well, I want to give you a chance. I want to beat you fair and square, knowing that although you used your full powers against me I still won. You will lose. Here is how it goes- you try to break me, I try to break you. You can use any means you wish, though I advise against using the Dark Lord. Then again, you are smart enough to know that." Hermione was listening silently, her face growing darker by the second. She stood up tall and proud, her mouth a thin line.

"You are making a mistake Draco, and a selfish one at that. Nevertheless, I will play your game. What are your rules?"

"I make a move, then you make a move."

"Like chess."

"Yes, exactly like chess. And whoever gets the King first wins."

"Deal."

**I hope this chapter was okay and not too boring, please feel free to tell me if it is! I'm trying out a new writing style, as you can see, so I really need constructive criticism! Also, if anyone is free to Beta this that would be great. **

**As well, sorry to all the people that were upset over my stopping updates on the other story! My heart just wasn't into it, I have to be in the mood. I _will _finish it eventually, though, so be patient. :)**

**Read and review!**

**xxx,**

**Malfoy-Anonymous**


	3. Hermione's Move

**Hermione's Move**

Hermione waited calmly in the first floor corridor. She had curled herself into a ball on one of the padded windowsills next to the big metal doors with a book she had no interest in reading clasped between her hands as a precaution, should anyone happen to wander by and wonder what she was doing. This was unlikely however, as the Ravenclaw/Gryffindor Quidditch game was currently being played out on the pitch, and no self respecting wizard would ever admit to not wanting to witness such an important game. That is, unless you were a certain blonde wizard who had no time for anyone but himself, or a tall brunette that had somehow involved herself in a bloodthirsty game with said wizard.

Hermione saw a movement out of the corner of her eye and whipped her head around just in time to see Malfoy slip out of the bushes, his fists tight and his knuckles white. There was an angry flush in his normally pale cheeks, and his hair was tousled and hanging in shaggy strands around his face and neck. Hermione watched through the thin glass of the window as he started up the path, stomping his feet and blasting pebbles out of his way.

Hermione's lips turned up in a slow smirk worthy of Lucius Malfoy himself, and she inched her hand down her robe into the pocket that held her wand. Outside, Malfoy suddenly paused his walk and jerked his head up to catch her eyes.

A first year hidden in the shadows had witnessed the entire thing, and with his heartbeat pounding in his ears, he turned and ran. Evil things were happening at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the expression of pure loathing on the blonde wizard's face would haunt the young boy for years.

...

Draco's lips dropped into a frown when he noticed the frizzy haired Gryffindor watching him from the window beside the front door. He was still waiting for her first move, and while he knew she would never back out he couldn't help but wonder. It had been three weeks since their meeting and nothing interesting had happened at all. It was all the same old stuff- taunting Potter, boasting to his friends, growling at first years, attempting to fix the cupboard hidden deep in the Room of Requirement. These attempts at repairing went on for hours until he was sick and tired and frustrated and his skin itched at his bones, until his hair was slick with sweat and the skin under his eyes sagged with tire and fear.

He had just returned from another fruitless session, and another ominous letter had arrived that morning from the Manor promising a visit from his Aunt Bellatrix if he didn't shape up soon. He was tired and hungry and frustrated but most of all he was angry, and he had no patience to deal with the Mudblood today. And yet, he had the feeling getting away from her would be easier said than done.

He gave her the worst scowl he could muster, and she cringed away from the glass her nose had previously been pressed against. He smiled to himself and blasted another stone out of his way. No, Draco Malfoy still had his touch.

He looked down at his shoes just as the bloodhound jumped out from behind a tree. He fell to the ground and his jaw went slack.

...

Wet and cold, this was how he felt. Not all over his body, just his forehead and his eyebrows. A drop of cold trickled down and caught in his eyelashes, which fluttered slightly at the irritating feeling. A second later it was pushed away with a warm swipe.

Draco pursed his lips and smiled, sinking into the soft surface beneath him. He felt light and happy, and the cool water on his brow felt amazing against his hot skin. Something brushed against his cheek.

"Draco?" The voice was soft and feminine and it sent a shiver of warmth through Draco in response. He let out a happy groan in response, and the voice chuckled softly.

"How are you feeling?" Draco frowned and thought for a moment. He couldn't much feel his body except for the silky feeling of a blanket against bare skin, and his head was cold and lightheaded but not altogether unpleasant. He could see no reason why he wouldn't feel fine.

"Tell me if this hurts," she whispered, and began trailing her fingers along Draco's body. She started with his face, rubbing gently along his forehead and cheeks and chin and a light touch to his lips. Draco shook his head groggily for the entirety, and though the sleep was wearing off he kept his eyes still firmly shut. Her fingers trailed down his neck, rubbing slowcircles on his collar bone. Then down to his chest, fingers touching the faint creases between his muscles. A soft brush against his nipples made his groin twitch. Draco was alert now, but still he kept his eyes closed.

A soft poke to his side made Draco's eyes fly open and a hoarse scream escaped his mouth. The girl shushed him and patted his head back onto the pillow. He kept his eyes hooded as he watched her shadowy form rush around, muttering spells in his direction as she sorted through vials in a cupboard. She picked a small, oddly shaped one from the left and resumed her seat beside him. She pried his mouth open and trickled the tasteless liquid down his throat.

He closed his eyes again but he didn't have to wait long before there was another poke to his side, this time painless. He nodded and opened his eyes fully, smiling at the girl's face hidden beneath a crazy bush of brown curls. She gave him a sheepish grin and gently closed his eyes.

"You had a broken rib," she explained. "But I have to finish with the inspection or Madam Pince'll have me hung." Draco nodded and relaxed again. She continued her torturously slow descent down his body, touching every crease and crevice of him. She worked down his legs, massaging the muscles gently as she did. She reached a hand under him and worked back up the back of his legs. Her hands flitted over his hip bones, then moved in...

Her hand brushed his cock and it sprang up instantly. Draco peered out from under his eyelids and gave a lopsided smile at her transfixed expression. He realized he was naked, but it didn't bother him much.

"Shall we continue with the inspection?" Draco asked softly but pointedly, and the girl gave him an unfamiliar wolfish grin that sent another jolt to his erection. She moved her hand down and massaged the base of his length, trailing her fingers around the soft skin. She ran her fingers over his balls, and with a quick flick of her wrist gave Draco one pleasing stroke. He groaned and arched his back a bit, crushing his head into the pillow. She made a ring with her fingers around his cock and pumped twice.

Her lips pursed into an O and she blew cool air over the head. Draco growled something unintelligible and squirmed. She was such a bloody tease and he told her as much. She smiled and lowered her head to hover just above his cock, pausing a second before taking the head into her mouth and giving it a hearty suck. Draco groaned and reached up to grasp the headboard. She lowered her head again and took more in, the next time more, until she was deep throating him, which was a feat as Draco wasn't small at all. She only did this once, burying him all the way into her warm, wet mouth, before she pulled back and pulled the covers over him again.

"Sweet dreams," she said, before pulling the covers over him again and giving him a kiss on his cheek. She gave him one more cheeky grin and exited the room, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving Draco hot and flushed with a raging erection and temper.

...

Bloody hell.

Draco awoke with a tent in his pants and a pounding head ache. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and rose from the bed grumbling. He ran a hand through his hair and opened one crusty eye. He stumbled back onto the bed and opened both his eyes. He was in an unfamiliar large room, with at the very least 50 beds pushed against the beds, most of which were occupied. People in white robes with black headdresses rushed form bed to bed. Though no one paid him any attention he was acutely aware of the fact that he was not currently wearing any clothes and he slipped under the thin covers that did nothing to hode his morning wood.

An old lady in an all-black version of the ensemble that Draco recognized as Madam Pomfrey, the healer, spotted him and hurried over.

"Mr. Malfoy, how are you feeling?"

"Fine and dandy." Draco said sarcastically. Madam Pomfrey ignored him.

"Any nausea? Headaches? Soreness? That bloodhound really beat you up. How's your rib feeling? Ms Granger did a splendid job of patching you up-" Ah yes, Ms Granger. Draco flushed when he thought of what had happened the last time he had been awake. How dare the Mudblood touch him and take advantage of him in such a state? He had obviously not been of sane mind and his urges took over him. He felt dirty and used, and he hated that a Mudblood had made him feel like this. Oh, she would pay. "- but you can never be so sure, broken bones are quite tricky but Ms Granger is a very bright young gi-"

"I feel fine, now get me some bloody clothes so I can get out of this hell hole." Draco growled, and the healer frowned disapprovingly but waved over a fresh pair of robes for the boy. He stood and began dressing openly while Madam Pomfrey looked the other way and fluttered her hands all over the place. He then snatched the vial of pain reliever from the old lady's hand and with a wink at the young healer a bit older than him blushing profusely in the corner, he left the Medical Wing.

The halls were crowded as students from every house headed for breakfast, and Draco shoved his way through the crowd. It thinned as he approached the dungeons, and Draco soon found himself walking the hall to the entrance of the Slytherin common room alone. When he got to his dorm room the first thing he would do was take care of the erection in his pants, then he would devise a plan that would have Granger screaming for mercy. However, when he got to his dorm room door, a piece of paper tacked to the door made him stop his planning.

_Your move._

_HG_

**Sorry it took me so long to write this chapter! To be honest I got a bit distracted, what with it being summer and all. As well, I have recently applied to become an American Apparel model! Yay, fingers crossed**!

**I would really appreciate some more reviews on this story, just to see how you guys like it.**

**xxxx,**

**malfoy-anonymous**


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